


Imperfect Penance

by EmeraldHeiress



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anakin Skywalker Needs a Hug, Angst, Dai Bendu (Star Wars), Don't copy to another site, Execution, Gen, Introspection, Mute Anakin Skywalker, Muteness, The Force, implied major character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:47:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29944008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldHeiress/pseuds/EmeraldHeiress
Summary: Eyes followed him on the trek to Council chambers. Eyes full of accusation. Full of sadness. Of horror. The way was long from his cell beneath the Temple. Still they stared. Jedi. Friends.Family.He kept his own lowered.He didn’t want the gold still swirling in their depths to scare the younglings.
Comments: 21
Kudos: 52
Collections: New SW Canon Server Works





	Imperfect Penance

Eyes followed him on the trek to Council chambers. Eyes full of accusation. Full of sadness. Of horror. The way was long from his cell beneath the Temple. Still they stared. Jedi. Friends. _Family_. 

Whose masters and padawans he had killed. Whose children had slaughtered.

He kept his own lowered.

He didn’t want the gold still swirling in their depths to scare the younglings.

He could feel, though the tiny touch that the binders allowed, that Ahsoka was awake; that she was healing. He was _grateful_. 

Grateful that she was there and breathing and _alive_.

That she was _free_.

She would remember what plans the Master had had. Between her being here, safe, in the arms of the Temple that had been their home, _that was her home_ , and with her memories of the Master’s threats — his horrific plans — the crechelings would be safe.

He could walk to his punishment.

The Master would not win and he… he could die for his crimes.

The marble was warm underneath his feet. He remembered marveling at that when he first came to the Temple. Even on Tatooine, under the beating of twin suns, stone was always cold. The memory of his _jaieh_ filled him, explaining to him that it wasn't actually warm; that the power of the Force and the generations of Jedi that lived and worked and _loved_ each other and everyone in the Temple left an impression in the stone. That that impression was what felt warm.

They had given him shoes of course — the jedi were not cruel, even to sith — but he had wanted to feel the warmth of the marble, the comfort of his once-home, before he died for them.

He kept his eyes down, on the muted patterns of pink and cream, until they reached the chamber. 

A glance told him that it was full of more than just the standard Council. People he had hurt. _Obi-Wan_ , a voice cried at the back of his mind. A voice that sounded so much like himself. He could feel the blue gaze of his _jaieh_ — no, he had lost the right to call him that — of _Obi-Wan_ on him as he slowly knelt in the center of the chamber, his knees resting on the blue star. 

The sorrow and pain in that gaze branded him.

If he could, if he had the time, if he had the words, he would explain. He wondered if it would have made it better or worse for his — for _Obi-Wan_ to know. 

It didn’t matter in the end. 

The result would be the same. 

He would still be _here_. 

_And it was time._

The Force pressed against him, filled with the anger in the room. With the hate. Memories of the past, of words falling from lips, telling him that the jedi do not hate rang in his ears. He was the exception to the rule. It was not less than he had expected. His hands were red with the blood of his brothers. He deserved no less than their rage. Their contempt. 

But the undercurrent of sorrow was unexpected. 

He closed his eyes against the pricking of tears. Even now, he knew better than to waste water. 

Time seemed to stretch and the world grew dull. He didn’t know how long he knelt there, riding the waves of emotion around him. Listening to the drone of voices. It didn’t matter what they were saying. The result was the same. He wasn’t here for trial. They had already had that.

He wasn’t here for anything but peace. 

Master Windu’s voice began to list his crimes and the world sharpened again. The master’s voice rang heavy with their weight. The weight of sadness, of anger, of regret. 

He could feel the pain of their loss in the Force. Of their regret. As every name was read, a face flashed in front of his eyes. An act. The movement of his blade or of a knife or… 

Every memory was stamped upon his soul.

He hoped they had found peace within the Force.

At the end of the list, Mace addressed him once. A formality only. A question.

Did he have anything to say?

As if he had said anything. As if any words or noise had passed his lips or into the Force from him in months. As if he had done nothing but sit silent, accepting their words and their judgment. 

There was nothing he could say.

But…

He tilted his head and fell forward to the floor. Forehead pressed against the mosaic tiles, he arched his back from his position on his knees and opened his hands in supplication as far he could in the binders. A near perfect Penitent’s Pose. 

He kept his elbows tight against his body, showing that he was not asking for forgiveness. The arch of his back speaking of his depth of regret. 

The only sign of communication since he’d been captured. 

Gasps rang throughout the hall. 

Whispers reached him. Whispers of disbelief. Anger. 

How dare he mock them. 

How dare he mock the traditions he corrupted with his very presence. 

Blood rushed to his face in shame. 

He had accepted that they would look at him as a monster. As a traitor. As the _worst_ of the dark when he made his choice. He had accepted that they would never know the truth or the reasons. That they would never understand. 

Acceptance, however, didn’t take away the agony. Or the shame.

He bit the inside of his cheek and held the pose.

The hiss of a lightsaber cut the chatter of the room.

He did not rise at the ignition of the blade. It was his time… and he would rather die in an expression of his sorrow than in an expression of defeat. 

He’d spent the last five months _living_ in defeat. 

He waited.

A flicker battered at the edge of the Force. Coming closer.

 _Ahsoka_. 

Closing his eyes, he wished she would stay away. Silently, he begged the universe that she wouldn’t do this. She didn’t need to see this. He breathed, keeping himself still as Mace moved closer. 

The violet blade raised.

Perhaps it would be over before she got there and she would be spared.

He reached for the Force and tried to find Peace. Peace in the knowledge that he didn’t have to protect. That he didn’t have to be _that_ anymore. Peace in Death. Peace in the Force.

Purple light flickered against his eyelids.

He _breathed_ and waited.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is going to be a non-chronological ficlet/one-shot story. It's a bit of an experiment. We'll see how it goes, okay? This is meant to be non-stress for me, so please don't ask for updates. I have a handful of segments pre-written but since I do actually want them in some semblance of order, they're only going to come out when I'm ready/have the _right ones_ written.


End file.
